


From Moss Green to Crimson Red

by BigG



Category: Game of Trones (Tv) A Song of Ice and Fire (fragments)
Genre: Bran leaves the Three-Eyed Crow and the Children, Dreaming, Jojen comes back, Resurrection, Wrights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigG/pseuds/BigG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small story that I had written a while back and forgotten about and just recently dug up.</p><p>"Bran ran through the winter wonderland. His feet leaving clear imprints of his boots in the soft snow. The snowflakes that clung to the branches of trees were flung off as he brushed past them. New and old snowflakes clung to his frosty hair. His smooth chestnut locks bounced on his shoulders, swinging up and down as he ran freely through the white blanket forests in the Lands of Always Winter."</p><p>"All of a sudden Bran felt a presence behind him. He swirled round to meet it with a bow ready to fire its arrow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greendreams

Bran ran through the winter wonderland. His feet leaving clear imprints of his boots in the soft snow. The snowflakes that clung to the branches of trees were flung off as he brushed past them. New and old snowflakes clung to his frosty hair. His smooth chestnut locks bounced on his shoulders, swinging up and down as he ran freely through the white blanket forests in the Lands of Always Winter.

Bran grind to a halt in a small clearing in between a crowd of large trees. He studied up and down the center tree that stood before him for a moment. As he turned around to return down the path he had just followed when something large and black flew right past his face, squawking. Causing him to twirl on his feet as it perched itself on a branch on the tree before him.

It was the Three-Eyed Raven.

It stood proudly on the wood beneath and tilted its head before it squawked again.

He lifted his bow in hand and pulled an arrow from the quiver his back. He placed the arrow in the bow and pulled it back as far as it would allow him. His arm gently shaking in the icy air. He heard his two oldest brothers behind him

“Don’t think too much Bran.” Jon advised him.

“Relax your bow arm.” Robb added.

He released the arrow. It flew and grazed the feathers of the raven. Bran could hear the laughter of his brother’s echo into nothing. _And which one of you was a marksman at ten?_

“Father.” Bran asked himself. He stared up at the swaying white trees, glittering like gems due to their coverage of snow.

All of a sudden Bran felt a presence behind him. He swirled round to meet it with a bow ready to fire its arrow.

It was a boy, not much older than himself. He stood there staring at Bran who had his arrow aimed at his chest. The boy was draped in a long, crimson cloak that stretched to the ground. His features were obscured with a hood of the same color draped over his head. “Remember what Jojen said?” He said in a soft voice. Bran kept a stern expression and his arrow at the ready but was surprised to hear Jojen’s name.

“Which was what?” Bran queried, wanting to know the answer to his question.

Another boy walked out from behind the red cloak and both turned their heads to look at each other for a moment before turning back to face Bran.

The second boy was charred and smouldering with bits of bone showing. He was black and red with burns and hints of smoke rising from his body. The boy seemed familiar. He had small strands of straw coloured hair on his head. But when he met the charred boy’s eyes and discovered they were a mossy marble green...

_It can’t be!_

It _was_ Jojen Reed.

“You can’t kill it you know.” The charred remains of Jojen spoke. “Because the raven is you.” The words came rushing back to him as clear as the day Bran had first heard them.

Suddenly all the trees that surrounded the three of them began to burn. The flames got bigger and more intense. The red cloaked boy and the smouldering Jojen simply stared into Bran as he began to panic. He frantically turned in different directions to look for an escape but they were completely surrounded by orange roaring fire. Then Bran heard a loud squawk from behind. He turned sharply to look but the Three-Eyed Raven with its feathers as black as night flew into his face.

-0-0-0-

Bran shot up straight. His face damp with sweat and his hair stuck to his head, panting heavily, looking at around in the darkness of the snowy forest that surrounded himself, Meera and Hodor. Then he looked into the fire in front of him. A small miracle which Meera had worked hard to achieve. The only thing that provided warmth in this God’s forsaken region.  
“Bran, are you alright?” Meera asked from across the camp.

Bran turned his head sharply to see Meera on the other side of the fire, sitting with her legs crossed and with the resources and tools for her to make more and more arrows for her bow. They stared at each other, Brandon still warm and panting heavily from his greendream but quickly starting to feel cold again, and Meera glared at him with a look of question and concern.

“Did you see something?” She asked. Bran moved his eyes to the bright glowing orange of the fire in front of him. He studied the flames as they licked the wood black. Creating puffs of smoke that rose into the air above them to vanish.

“Yes.” Was all he could muster up at the moment.

“What was it? Were you inside Summer again?” she kept at him, expecting an answer from him.

“No it was the Three-Eyed Raven. He’s back. I was in the woods and I tried to kill it but I missed. That was about it.” Bran replied. He didn’t want to tell her the full story. It would only upset her.

“There was something else wasn’t there?” Meera looked down and fondled with the arrow in her hands she was in the process of creating. She knew Bran wasn’t telling her the whole story. Bran moved his eyes back to the glow of the fire for a moment to try and recall.

“There was a boy. He didn’t look much older than me. He wore a long thick red cloak, hood. I could see his face but I couldn’t really make it out. He just stood there watching me.”

“What else Bran?” A look of curiosity and nerve plastered her face as she stared at the young Lord.

“He said, remember what Jojen said.”

Meera remained silent. Shocked to hear about to hear about her passed brother again. Both Bran and Meera had avoided talking about him after they had lost him to the Wrights, and his body, lost to an explosion. She simply stared at him and Bran took it as a hint to continue.

“And then he stepped out from behind the cloak. He was all burned and smouldering and he said that I can’t kill the Three-Eyed Raven because the raven is me.”

"Jojen was burned?"

"Yes Jojen."

“And?”, Meera kept demanding to know he rest. If there was anything to do with her sweet brother, she wanted to know.

“Then when he finished speaking all the trees that surrounded us went up in flames and kept burning, the red boy and Jojen just stared at me as if nothing was happening”, he spoke soft and plainly but with a hint of breathlessness and fright. “And that was it I suppose.”

The camp was now as silent as the grave except for Hodor’s snoring. Meera looked at Bran with an expression of shock and fright. "Jojen always used to try and hide what he seen from me." She said, her eyes losing their connection to Bran as she clutched her arrow tightly. "He never could. I always got it out of him eventually." The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a dagger. Both simply glared at each other for what was moments but felt like eternity. “We should get some sleep, it’ll be a long day tomorrow”, she blurted at Bran. She grew sullen as she began to remiss her brother and when he died. “Goodnight Bran”, she said quickly as she lay down facing the Haunted Forest away from Brandon.

“Goodnight." Bran replied.

He simply stared at Meera and then to the fire. Reminiscing his greendream. He lay back down on his furs and pulled more of the pelts on top of himself to keep warm in the snow.

His only real thought at the moment and would most likely be for the rest of the night was _What was this dream about?_

 


	2. The Red Boy

As dawn arrived and the sun began to shine itself on the northern abyss. The light reflected on the pale wood of the Heart Tree. The light flickered in-between the crimson leaves and the beams of amber shone down on the snow and the charred remains of a corpse lay. The snow gently flurried on his burned remains, burying parts of his body as a horse as black as night rode up upon the flat ice where the body lay.

The horse stopped a distance away from his body as a boy draped in crimson studied him with curiosity. He dismounted from his horse to crunch the snow beneath him. He lifted the bottom of his thick cloak. He began to slowly stroll over to the black remains of body which still smelled of death and decay. Just as he got close Wrights concealed in the ice below smashed through and let out roars that would put a dragon to shame.

The Red Cloaked Boy quickly glanced at the Wrights running at him in different directions with his mouth hanging open slightly. He pulled a blade of Valyria from his garments to meet the wrights in combat. They were few in number; the red boy caught sight of sliced bone a distance away, showing that there were more before his arrival. The red boy and the wrights danced in the snow, the clash of steel against faded iron rang the mountains before them. They flinched back and ducked below blade, yet one by one the skeletons fell, falling victim to the red boy and his Valyrian steel. With one final swoosh of steel, he cut into the last wright, its bone flying and its head falling the snow. The red boy held his composure for a moment longer, catching his breath. He glanced in circles in search of enemies. There were none. With a sigh he hid the nightly steel that shimmered in the light of winter and turned to the corpse that lay buried on the frozen lake.

The Red Boy lifted his cloak and walked towards the body. He slowly circled the charred remains, examining them to see if there was any chance of life or if there was too much death inside of whoever it were.

When he returned to the point where he had started , he caught sight of the boys face. His head with the remnants of straw-like hair. It was strange to have such little remnants survive what had burned him, it obviously being an intense fire to have burned his so black. It was then that he felt a strange aura from the boy before him. It radiated from the body and a shiver ran down the boy's spine. _This is a boy of power_ he thought.

Upon realizing, the Red Cloaked Boy removed the hood to reveal soft Ginger hair. The strands caught the flakes of snow as they fell. Skin as pale and smooth as the ice he walked on. His eyes, the color of the red leaves of the Weirwood tree. The color of the red saps of the Weirwood tree. The color of fresh blood. He keeled before the lifeless body and gently tilted the boy’s head so it was facing himself. The remains cracked squeaked like the sound of burned and cold firewood being crushed in the palm of the hand. He then with caution pried open his mouth.

He closed his eyes and blew a soft breeze into the mouth. He continued to blow for a few moments until the boy's mossy green eyes shot open.


End file.
